


Wedded and Bedded

by libraralien



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Courtship, F/F, First Time, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 01:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraralien/pseuds/libraralien
Summary: The formal courtship of Lady Sansa Stark by Ser Brienne of Tarth, a true knight.





	Wedded and Bedded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vociferocity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vociferocity/gifts).



Brienne had not known what to expect when Jon Snow had called for her, saying he had important matter to discuss.

 

"Please, sit down," he bid, when she entered his chambers.

He had a solemn manner, as if he was going to ask something very dangerous or very important of her.

"This is about my sister, Lady Sansa," he said, wasting no time, "As you know, she has been now twice entered into false marriage by those who wish to do her harm. I know it is behind her, but I feel she is still nervous about it happening again, what with her position."

"Ser, if you summoned me here to protect her against those who would manipulate her into harm, I promise, I have already sworn to protect her. If you wish me to swear to protect her in this specific manner, I gladly will."

He smiled. "I do not doubt your steadfastness to my sister," he said, and it sounded as if he did truly believe this and it gladdened him. 

"Which is why I have asked you for consult. Of all the people in Winterfell, I believe you to most truly be working in her interest. If I were to pursue a marriage for my sister-"

"Why pursue any marriage for her?" Brienne blurted rudely. She couldn't help herself. However, if Jon was annoyed by this, he did not show it.

"Our position is unstable, even I admit this. I worry if fortunes were to change, if our we were to be at a disadvantage….it would be safer for her to be married, so that she could not be forced into another by our enemies," he looked despondent at even the thought, "It would also mean somebody protecting her, even if there was chaos. I would like to think that person could be me, but if I am to rule, there will me much asked of me, I could not guarantee my attention would be focused on her. I need there to be someone who can."

Brienne wanted to be rational, wanted think through a list of Northern lords who would be suitable and loyal, but at the thought of Sansa needing protection all she could say was, "Let me marry her, my lord," before the outrageousness of it even occurred to her.

Surprisingly, Jon Snow did not look aghast. Brienne felt embarrassed to have said something so ridiculous, but he seemed to be weighing the suggestion. She supposed that if she thought it over, this would not be the most shocking thing Jon Snow would have done.

"It isn't traditional, of course, but you said yourself that you could think of nobody more dedicated to Sansa than me. She would not be obligated to leave Winterfell, or even abandon the Stark name. What man could you sat that of?" Brienne felt she was babbling perhaps, but could not stop herself now that the idea was out in the open. She now felt she must be the one to wed Sansa.

"I have my doubts," he said at last, after a thoughtful pause, "But I see the merits of such an arrangement. I will let Sansa decide. I have one request, though."

Brienne shifted nervously. "Yes?"

"I have known Sansa since she was a child. Though she has been through much and is a child no longer, I think she would appreciate it if you courted her. Formally, I mean."

Brienne could hardly believe her luck. As a girl, she had gobbled up tales of true knights and beautiful Ladies and glory in battle. She had dreamed of gallantly courting a Lady, to prove her valor in battle for her hand. She still believed in these stories in a way, or in true knights at least.

"Yes, my lord, nothing would bring me more happiness than to ask her hand in such a manner," she said, bowing slightly.

"Well in that case, Ser," he smiled in amusement at the slight joke and slight delight in calling her Ser, "I will alert the Lady of your intentions. If she agrees, well, I look forward to hearing your declare you love."

***

While Sansa had already agreed to be courted, as the whole point of the thing was the ritual, the formality of it, Brienne was still nervous. She was about to walk into a hall where Lady Sansa would be seated at the head, throw herself on the ground in front of her, and declare her love and intention to court her. And then recite a poem (not one she had written herself, thank the Seven).

"Ser Brienne of Tarth may enter," Sansa's voice rang out from the hall, dripping with command, "And I will hear any statements she wishes to make to me."

Brienne stepped into the hall. There was only a handful of Lords gathered, most likely already aware of what Brienne was going to do and most likely selected by Jon Snow as being the most willing to accept the idea of Brienne and Sansa's courtship. Others would follow in acceptance if they saw their peers doing so first, Snow had assured her.

Sansa sat in a wooden chair, not quite a throne, raised on a level above the rest of the hall. This caused her to gaze downward in order to look at Brienne as she approached. Brienne's heart thrummed at the attention, focusing on it and not the rest of the people in the hall.

Once Brienne reached the edge of where Sansa was seated, she threw herself onto her knees before her.

As she declared her love, she felt her nerves vanish. Yes, in some ways she was baring her heart and feelings publicly, but the words and motions of doing so already existing and she was merely fulfilling them. This was the comfort of a formal courtship.

She began to recite a poem. It was a familiar one to everyone present, likely. It was the tale of a Southern lord who travels to the North for diplomatic purposes. The poem pokes fun at his unfamiliarity with various Northern customs. The young man then falls madly in love with a Northern woman, her beauty unmatched in the South. It was a common poem to be read at weddings between Northerners and Southerners. If Brienne was not mistaken, she believed it had been recited and Ned and Catelyn's wedding feast. Brienne was from the Stormlands, hardly the South proper, but she felt that the poem would be well received.

After finishing her verses on the entrancing nature of Northern beauty, she looked up at Lady Sansa, who sat straight up with a regal dignity.

"I have heard your declaration of feelings, Ser Brienne," she said loudly, "And I will permit you to court me further." She reached inside her cloak and pulled out a delicate piece of cloth, which stood out against the sturdy leathers and furs of everyone in the room in its delicacy.

"A gift, Ser Brienne, to represent my own feelings," Sansa said, holding the handkerchief out. Brienne stood and took it, and as she did Sansa turned her head away and covered the bottom of her face with her other hand, as if to conceal blushing. Brienne could see her face well enough to tell she was not actually blushing, but she did have a slight smile on her face, and that at least was true.

The handkerchief was Stark grey, with a large decorative S S embroidered on it in white. Brienne felt a rush knowing that likely Sansa had sewn this with her own hand, had prepared a token for Brienne to accept her courtship. She knew it was all part of the ritual, but it did not stop Brienne feeling a little thrilled. She was doing this out of dedication to Lady Sansa, yes, but she was a true knight, and she would not have declared her love, however flowery and courtly the language, if it had not been true.

***

It had come to light, that people enjoy any sort of joyful diversion in a war. As such, in recent weeks, Ser Brienne's courtship of the Lady Sansa was the talk of Winterfell. 

All involved had been worried about how the news would be taken, but as the Lords still around were those who had accepted a bastard King, had accepted the wildlings onto their land, it seemed the majority of those who would have objected to such an arrangement had long turned away for other reasons. At the very least, this was not the most shocking thing the Lords present had accepted in recent months.

The truth of it was, the whole castle was abuzz with gossip about them, but in a joyful way.

"This morning, I saw Ser Brienne lay down her cloak in the mud so that Lady Sansa could walk over it."

"I heard Lady Sansa has been turning away her meals, she is so overcome with passions."

"Ser Brienne recited another poem to her at supper last night."

For Brienne's part, she enjoyed playing her role, and as far she could tell, Sansa was enjoying playing her. Smiles and laughter danced on her face any time a public gesture was made between the two of them, part delight, part mirth at the ridiculousness of this formal courtship.

Brienne wanted one more grand gesture before asking her hand in marriage. And so, a tourney was organized. However, Winter was hardly the best time to be hosting a tourney, let alone during a war. So in reality, it was organized that there would be a single joust, for the reward of a kiss from Lady Sansa. Brienne and Podrick were the only competitors. Despite this rather scanty set up, everyone who could was there.

As Brienne walked out into the tourney field, she did not feel nervous as she had at other parts of this courtship. For one, she was about to show off her fighting prowess to much of Winterfell. Second, she was wearing armor, which she knew suited her. It was not the fine shining armor she had worn the day she defeated Ser Loras in a melee, all those months ago, but it fit her and was well made. She always looked her best in armor, her broad shoulders and height suddenly transformed from "awkward and unwieldy" to "a warrior's build." People always were impressed with her physically when they saw her in armor, at least for a moment.

She looked over to the side where everyone was standing to watch. People were cheering for her. Sansa was bundled up in furs and was red-cheeked from the cold wind. She was not cheering, as it would have been improper for her to choose sides, but Brienne could see her push down a grin when the two of them locked eyes, as if the two of them had a secret.

The actual spar was hardly a valiant battle that would be written of in the histories. Pod did his best, did not let Brienne win, but he did not need to. Brienne as always beat him roundly and quickly, though, Brienne thought, not as quickly as she perhaps once might have.

Amid raucous cheering, she approached Lady Sansa, who stood on her toes to give Brienne a kiss on her cheek. Brienne felt herself flush, almost feeling more of a rush from the kiss than from the fight itself. The kiss was brief and chaste, but Brienne's skin seemed to burn where Sansa's soft lips had brushed it.

She dropped to her knees and clasped on of Sansa's hands in her own.

"Lady Sansa, I am driven mad by this flirtation. Your kiss has elevated mine own feelings to new heights and it is unbearable. Would you take me as your husband?"

Sansa swooned theatrically. "A marriage of love? Ser Brienne, I would be delighted to be wed to an honorable knight such as yourself."

Brienne brought Sansa's hand to her face and boldly kissed her knuckles, before the two of them were pushed apart by people jovially congratulating them.

 

***

They slipped quietly into Sansa's chambers after the wedding, having both agreed the crowd would have fallen into bafflement in trying to divide itself to carry the two of them to the bedding.

The wedding had been done in the Northern style, vows exchanged quickly in front of the heart tree. There had been a feast, but it was so modest as to almost not warrant being described as a feast. It would have been unwise to use up too much food at once, not with a war coming, not with Winter here. But, it had been a meal and Brienne and Sansa had sat together at the head of the room and people toasted them. So it had been a wedding feast enough. 

They had traded cloaks during the ceremony, Brienne taking Sansa under her protection in her oath to defend and keep her safe, Sansa taking Brienne under her protection by the fact of Brienne remaining at Winterfell, in Sansa's house. So now Brienne was wearing a Stark grey cloak, wolves dancing across it. Sansa now wore the simple bright blue cloak of Brienne the Blue.

"Well, here I am," Sansa said teasingly, a smile playing on her lips, "Your beautiful Lady. Won. Wed. Nothing left to do now but for you to be bed me."

Brienne felt her already tenuous hold on her nerves go completely. The formality of the courting had given her a certain sense of direction. There was an order to the thing and she had followed it: declare your love, win her favor with songs and gifts and acts of valor, wed her, and then...bed her. 

"My Lady Sansa, I do not want you to feel...obligated to participate in this bedding. After…" she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Sansa appeared unbothered, "I have had two marriages now declared false: one unconsummated, one only done so in the most monstrous of manners, and not truly. I want nobody to be able to say that the marriage between Sansa Stark and Brienne of Tarth was a false one."

"Of course," Brienne said quickly. She had managed to avoid thinking about exactly what the bedding would involve. To be truthful, she had little idea about how a woman would go about bedding another woman.

"Perhaps we should remove our wedding clothes and get into our bed to start," Sansa said, putting a slightly pleased emphasis on the word "our."

Brienne nodded, and instantly began fumbling at her fine decorated armor. It would have been gallant for her to remove Sansa's clothes for her, to slide the cloak from her shoulders and unlace her gown. But her already clumsy hands were trembling and she felt she would make a mess of it. 

When Sansa slid her gown off, down to nothing but her small clothes, Brienne cast her gaze down, feeling it would be rude to look at her naked body, while also feeling the ridiculousness of the embarrassment; Sansa was her bride after all.  
She instead cast her thoughts to embarrassment over her own naked body, as she pulled her tunic off. She may have managed to look a fine thing in her polished armor and boots, her broadness might be mistaken for handsomeness in the right clothes, but now bare, she felt Sansa's gaze taking in her incongruity; her small soft breasts awkward cast against her broad shoulders and muscled chest, the absence of a cock making her sinewy legs look even less shapely.

She felt had the impulse to pick Sansa up and carry her to the bed, though it was only on the other side of the small room. She acted on it before she could second guess herself, scooping one arm behind Sansa's knees, the other catching her shoulders.

Sansa giggled in delight, and reached up to give Brienne's arm a squeeze. "The tales told about you all tell of your strength, but they fail to mention your gentleness as well!" she laughed.

Brienne placed her gently on the bed, before walking around the bed and sitting on it next to her.

Sansa gazed at her, which made Brienne want to curl up and avoid being seen naked, but Sansa looked so eager and playful and loving that Brienne tried to loosen her stiff body, tried to allow herself to be looked upon.

She tried several times to think of something romantic to say, but at a loss, she leaned over and kissed Sansa instead. That at least, was a bit familiar.

Sansa seemed eager, pushing up into Brienne's mouth as soon as they touched. Brienne shuddered with sudden desire. She had the vague idea that she should get on top of Sansa. After the wedding, as the men drank, they began to elbow her and and wink and make lewd comments.

"I bet you can't wait to get her underneath you tonight, eh?"

"She's a pretty thing. Icy, but I wager you'll be able to warm her up in no time."

Brienne had not responded, not wanting to dignify any such comments about Sansa, and her own natural uprightness, bordering on prudery, offended. She was not sure what the men thought was to occur during their bedding, but they had seemed fairly consistent on the idea that Sansa would be underneath Brienne.

She held herself up on her arms on either side of Sansa's head, so as not to place her full weight atop Sansa. Sansa gazed up at her lovingly. Brienne kissed her again, lowering herself so that their warm naked bodies pressed against one another. That was a new feeling, Brienne thought, and a nice one, to be close to a person like this. When she pulled away Sansa looked at her expectantly.  
"I apologize my Lady," Brienne said, turning her head, unable to say it while Sansa looked into her eyes with such kindness, "But, I...I do not know what to do. I wanted to make everything perfect for you, I wanted to make it how it is in songs for you. But, I do not know what I need to do in this moment to bed you, let alone in a gallant and manful manner."

"Do you wish to take me? In the manner of a man?" Sansa asked.

"I hardly know. I know I wish to feel your touch. I know I burn for you, Sansa. I was always true when I spoke of my desires to you. All I want is to be yours: your True Knight, your Loyal Husband. I wish to be yours in every manner possible, my Lady. And I do wish to be with you. But I feel I have hardly the nerve or inclination or knowledge for how to bed you," Brienne admitted

Sansa slid out from under Brienne, standing up off the bed and tossed a fur on the ground off the bed. She looked regal and resplendent, Brienne thought. Her pale skin was flushed across her chest and neck and her hair was clinging in places to her face, but rather than looking disheveled, she looked powerful.

"Now, it is proper for a knight to kneel before a Lady," Sansa said, pointed at the fur laying on the ground in front of her, "And it is proper for a knight to act in a Lady's service."


End file.
